


Delicacy

by okbutjusthisonce



Series: RFU [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Crack, Implied Mpreg, Lovesick Alpha, M/M, Mpreg, Omega John, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:24:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okbutjusthisonce/pseuds/okbutjusthisonce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a tough day at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delicacy

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure this will make little sense without the previous stories; ironically it's the one that has the most to do with the show...

He scans the crime scene again. He has it, he can feel the answer. A completed puzzle sitting just there. Only his conscious mind is spinning, unable to put the pieces together in the right order. Sherlock navigates the fragile space between nous and alpha, walking on eggshells, feeling vulnerable and uncertain within himself.

He closes his eyes for a moment, hoping it will help. An image of John, of last evening - and the two before that - appears instead. John’s been wonderfully love crazy all week. It’s making Sherlock all sorts of crazy. He feels a stirring in his trousers despite himself. Annoyed, Sherlock refocuses on the corpse before him.

"Japan." He manages to say as Lestrade comes over.

"Japan." Repeats Greg, patiently waiting for more. The flat is wrecked. The old white man reclines, having found a comfortable eternity in his chair. Anderson has already made several stupid statements about a heart attack. It’s taking all of Sherlock’s strength not to go for the man’s silly, skinny neck. Another part of him is determined to continue with his observations. He looks around again and sees. Of course.

"What’s not missing...” He closes his eyes and inhales sharply.

“What’s...not...” Lestrade echos again.

“The honyaki... must still be here...” Sherlock is happy at least for this one small benefit of his currently enhanced ability to smell things. “This is not theft, it's murder!" He announces in his usual dramatic, authoritative manner. He rushes to the curio cabinet, feeling like himself again.

Anderson snorts contemptuously as Sherlock pulls the beautiful cloth bundle out, unrolls it to reveal a set of immaculate, expensive looking knives. They shine under his suddenly sharpened gaze.

“I have news for you... no one’s been stabbed or cut. We’ve already done a sweep with the infrared...there’s no blood anywhere...”

“Shut up. This has been used recently. It must be tested. I can smell it...”

“Used on what?” asks Lestrade.

Sherlock closes his eyes. He sees the answer, it swells in front of him, getting bigger and rounder. Turning him on, even though it’s just a -

“Fish. Mmmm...” Sherlock finds himself making a strange, low humming sound as the fish is replaced by John, doing much the same thing. The possibility of blatant arousal - or uncontrolled aggression -  is increasing. He really just wants to get back to John.

_Wrap it up_ , a greedy voice commands inwardly.

“He can smell it, ” Says Anderson snidely, “because his animal brain’s running things right now... he’s probably just hungry.” The two cops jump as Sherlock’s hum turns into a low growl. Anderson pales.

“Quiet. In fact - go do something else!” snaps Lestrade. “Go on?” he asks Sherlock softly.

Greg looks at Sherlock’s once again half glazed eyes. The man appears edgy and perhaps drunk, but Greg knows it’s not a matter of alcohol. Greg and John have been friends forever now. He knows how bad John can be in his current state; how much he loves to wind Sherlock up and then let him go. This time round things seem so much more extreme. Greg thanks the powers-that-be he’s never been on the receiving end of John’s amorous nature.

“D’you want to sit a minute? Are you alright?” He asks Sherlock. Sherlock shakes his head, as if to cast the spell off more than to answer Greg. He takes a deep breath. Runs hands through his hair and begins to pace the room rapidly.

“Special training, Master Chef. Old friends.” He says pointing to seemingly random objects around the flat. Lestrade takes note of them as best he can.

Anderson wanders back in, shrieks and runs as Sherlock charges him with a snarl.

“Post war! Poison!” He cries as he gives momentary chase. They do a single lap around the room before Sherlock loses interest and Anderson makes it out the door.

“...Passports...” He says sniffing the dead man and then Lestrade.

“Everything smells of everything.” He says.

Sherlock stops in the middle of the room and closes his eyes.

“Vengeance... Love triangle. John.”

“What?” Lestrade blinks.

“Sorry, I’ve got to go. Not John. Of course not.” says Sherlock nervously.

“Right...” Greg catches Sherlock’s arm as the detective turns to leave.

“Is...that it then?”

Sherlock looks back at Greg with his strange, half wild gaze.

“Fugu. I meant to say. Fugu.” he answers with equally strange breathlessness, and runs out the door.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure they had a shag first...


End file.
